


the moon has many faces (blink and you'll miss me)

by axilet



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Illustrated, Open Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8853415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/axilet/pseuds/axilet
Summary: AU - Kubo is taken."But I...I can't remember.""Don't worry. We'll write a whole new story for you."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cricket_aria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cricket_aria/gifts).



Kubo stands delicately on the surface of the sea, swaying gently to and fro with the motion of the waves. The view is beautiful, but that’s not why he has come here--again. Instead he’s looking at the thing in his hand and contemplating letting go--again.

The carved monkey, as always, feels warm. Its edges have long worn away from years of love and childish handling, and it fits neatly into the curve of his palm. The last tie he has to whatever life he had before.  Kubo holds it up, gazing back at the watchful eyes that keep eternal vigil.. _I shouldn’t have kept it,_ he thinks for the thousandth time. _Grandfather will be angry if he finds out._ He shivers, and the water under his feet shivers in response, snarling the pattern of the moonlight in a radius around him.

He only has to open his fingers and it will disappear forever, lost in the dark and the deep. The old him will disappear. It’s bad enough that he was raised in the human world, that his father was human, that his mother was a traitor. Grandfather has forgiven him all these flaws, except the last that he doesn’t know about, yet. He always finds out, in the end. Kubo’s arm jerks abruptly--but in the wrong direction. He clutches the wooden toy to his chest, unable to understand _why_ he is feeling like this: why the weakness in his legs, the ache in his heart. It should have been torn out of him the way Grandfather had torn out the remaining eye from his socket. He should be strong and untouchable and godly, like his grandfather and his aunts...

Except, that’s not quite true. The day his mother left, imperfection crept into the Moon Kingdom like a winter frost. Then, Heaven knew the pain of loss and the anguish of betrayal. And Heaven’s memory was eternal. Sariatu’s downfall is the reason for Grandfather’s cold rages, for his Aunts’ mockery. The reason why humanity remains in him like a worm in the heart of an apple, gnawing him hollow. He should hate his mother for falling in love with a human, for tainting him the moment he drew breath in this world without having a choice in what he was. But he can’t really hate a woman he doesn’t remember. Because of the forbidden keepsake from his childhood, he remembers the movement of her quick, clever hands, a muttered curse as her knife slips, the shavings curling from the wooden block. The strength and tenderness in those hands as they folded his fingers closed around her precious gift. But everything else is gone.

“Mother,” he murmurs, so soft the words are carried away by the wind before he can hear them. “Where are you now? Are you still looking for me, to take me away again?”

“Where are you?” the wind murmurs back. “Kubo…where are you…”

 

Kubo yelps in an undignified manner unbefitting of a moon child and springs into the air like a startled bird. His robes drawn up around him protectively, he scans the moon-glazed sea beneath him. He sees only a ripple that might be from a passing boat, the glint of a swinging light. Unsettled, he turns away, only realizing then he has instinctively thrust the monkey back into his clothes, his resolve failed once more.

As he ascends his aunts join him, claiming one arm on each side. “Where have you been, little nephew?” Kurusu asks, her voice strategically distorted behind her mask and its painted, knowing smile. Her true smile is much wider and wilder, as she swings her chain scythe idly in singing circles that cuts a passing cloud into two.

“One might think you had no interest in spending time with your own family,” Yukami adds with poisonous sweetness. “After so long away, who would wish to ever leave the glories of the Moon Kingdom?”

They laugh in unison, though Kubo doesn’t find it funny at all. After the sisters three were shattered into the sisters two, Grandfather told him, his daughters had coped by drawing closer to mend the gaping hole in their midst, until they became practically of one mind and soul. They derive an endless amusement from obscure witticisms only they know the meaning of, and constantly exchange smirking glances rich with shared history. Kubo has long since given up on ever understanding his aunts beyond the shared tragedy that binds them all.

“Did Grandfather send you?” he asks with a sigh.

“His guilty conscience speaks,” Kurusu pronounces, while Yukami cackles, “Of course!” She removes her wide-brimmed hat, and the wind chooses that moment to slap a handful of long black hair into Kubo’s mouth. While he’s spitting, she continues in Grandfather’s stentorian tones, “You are a prince of this kingdom, Kubo. That alone may command _some_ respect from mortal lords and emperors, but it is past time you acted like such.”

“It’s time you are tested,” Yukami says, and the sisters laugh again, at Kubo’s obvious dread.

At their helpful direction, he finds his grandfather kneeling in the garden, watering his plants. While the enormous white lilies will flourish quite well under in the light of the moon, the blooms under Raiden’s special care are especially luxuriant and waxy, releasing a deep, subtle scent that wafts precisely through the study window high above. Kubo hesitates, unwilling to intrude; but Raiden senses him almost at once and sets down his watering can, beckoning him closer with his usual warm smile.

“Let us walk, and talk,” he says, and with a heavy hand on his grandson’s shoulder they set off down one of the many meandering paths.

Where his Aunts are ever needling and reminding him about his human father, Raiden seems determined to ignore it completely. Kubo had learned the hard way the darker side behind Raiden’s sincerely offered welcome into the family: _Don’t worry, my child, you are one of us now_. The sudden, terrifying transformation from kindly grandfather to tyrannical god, roused by one too many questions about his father. _That human is dead,_ Raiden had screamed at him through elongating teeth and slitting eyes. _Never mention him in my hearing again._

Kubo understood, eventually, but he’s never forgotten what happened. With the secret he’s hiding, it’s best that he never forgets.

At first Grandfather speaks of Kubo’s progress in his various studies, and martial training with his aunts. Battle focuses them into twin honed blades drawn and wielded by a single melded will. Kubo straggles clumsily in their wake, and has been soundly beaten for his efforts. “You’ve come a long way, and will go further still,” Grandfather reassures him. “But it will take more than that to truly be a prince of this realm.”

Kubo winces.

A strategically placed break in the bushes lining the path reveals a flat, smooth lake that reflects perfectly the sky and trees above. Raiden stops, casting his gaze thoughtfully down. “I have decided. Tomorrow night,” he says, in a tone of voice that’s less _suggestion_ and more _command_ , “Come with me to the world below.”

Kubo bows dutifully. “Yes, Grandfather.”

* * *

The following night, their course carries them over a city, its streets packed for some kind of celebration involving music and bright lanterns. Devoid of moonlight, Kubo can only perceive the gathered humans as an amorphous gray mass through which a chaotic soup of emotions seethe and roil. Happiness, joy, cutting grief. His own heart shudders in response, called from like to like. He is flying far above the earth by the blessing of the moon, but it is still not far enough. He can never fly far or fast enough.

Their passage provokes a flurry of activity; faces craning open-mouthed upward, the waving of flags. Kubo worries as Grandfather slows, and for a moment he thinks they are going to land in the midst of the commotion. Whether they will be greeted with groveling or hostility, Kubo hates both equally. _I’m only pretending to be a god,_ a tiny voice whispers inside him: the voice of the gnawing worm. _I was one of you, can’t anyone see that?_ To his relief Grandmother turns instead toward the strange, bulky shape squatting on the horizon, and he follows.

Eventually as they draw closer it resolves into the shape of a castle; a castle collapsed, its battlements viciously scored with long gashes as though from a great beast. Armor and weapons are half-buried where the defending warriors have fallen. Nature has not yet dragged the whole edifice into dust but it is only a matter of time. Kubo wonders only briefly why the nearby city has not bothered to do anything to clean the place up; the terror and pain and death of the past lingers here, scarred into the very air like a fire burn.

“This was your father’s castle,” Grandfather says, and Kubo swings around to look at him in surprise. But for once Raiden speaks of Hanzo with actual pleasure, a cruel smile playing around his lips. “That is, before my visit on the happy occasion of your birth. Are you wondering why I’m showing this to you?”

Kubo nods cautiously.

“You see, it is in the nature of humanity to rebel against the heavens.” Raiden gestures at the desolation around them. “Those who understand their lot will offer tribute to us, but only grudgingly and out of fear. Gods live forever; but humans live always with the knowledge of the tightening noose around their necks.” His expression becomes bitter. “Thus, envy will always drive humans to drag us down to the earth. Sometimes, they even succeed. Remember, Kubo, gods _can_ die.”

There is a moment of silence as Grandfather regains his composure. He draws Kubo near, speaking seriously. “The time will come when I call upon you to perform your duty.  To remind humans where their place is in the divine order. Do you understand?”

Kubo swallows. The screams of dead soldiers ring in his ears. Is one of them his father’s voice, rendered unrecognizable in his agony? The moon smiles down on the ghastly scene, both then and now. _Can you hear me, Father?_ “I understand,” he says, choking.

“No, you don’t.” Grandfather smiles kindly to ease the sting in his words. He smooths one hand over Kubo’s hair, and tilts his chin up to align their gazes. “My poor grandson, for you to be raised so far from home, in such unfortunate circumstances. But you’ll have eternity to learn the ways of our family.”

* * *

After that, Kubo needs to think.

Before he realizes, he is hovering above his usual spot. Kubo pauses as he stares at the boat already idling there. Raiden’s words flash across his mind for an instant before he realizes that its occupant is shining silver in his sight, instead of drab grayness. A tall, thin woman with dark hair shot through with white, outwardly unremarkable save for the orange paper doll clinging to her shoulder. Her voice carries softly through the night, barely audible over the strumming of her shamisen. As the bachi strikes each string the fingers of the musician plucks with equal deftness at the knots and snarls of his heart.

 _My love lies over the ocean_  
_My love lies over the sea_  
_My love lies over the ocean_  
_My love is waiting for me._

His lips move, unwillingly. “I know you,” his voice says, as though from a long distance away.

“I have known you even before you were born,” his mother replies, lowering her shamisen to her lap.

“How did you find me?”

Her eyes shine, liquid in the moonlight. “I promised you, didn’t I,” she says. “Mr. Monkey would watch over you as long as you kept him at your side.”

They stare at each other, the pale boy in the floating silver robes, and the woman with the lined, weary face sitting straight-backed in the little boat. Kubo trembles, little eddies spiraling from his toes. His eyes and the tips of his fingers feel hot with gathering power. This was all because of his mistake. He should make up for it by destroying _her_ instead. Then Grandfather would no longer be disappointed in him.

“Kubo,” Sariatu says. She must read the turn of his intentions but her hands remain folded in her lap, making no move to defend herself. “I haven’t come to take you away. I don’t want _anyone_ to take you away, but for you to go wherever you will be happiest.” Her smile is sad. “And for a long time, I _was_ very happy in the Moon Kingdom. Are you happy, Kubo?”

Kubo wants desperately to say, “Yes.” Instead he blurts out, “I can’t. Not as long as you won’t leave me alone.” He tears the monkey from his pocket and holds it out. “Please, take it back. I don’t need him anymore.”

“I won’t take back what was given with love,” Sariatu says calmly. “If you must, Kubo, you may throw it away.”

Slowly, Kubo’s fist lowers to his side. It stays clenched.

The boat drifts closer, with a slight movement of Sariatu’s head. “You were very happy when you were living with me,” she says, wistful. “You used to go down to the village every day and animate paper dolls with your magic to tell stories to your friends. You would tell my stories of your father, Hanzo.” The orange doll is waving madly now, one hand clutched in her hair for balance. “Do you remember that, Kubo? Has my father torn away that memory with your eye in order to make room for his own version of happiness? Why did he need to do that, if you were so miserable in the human world?”

“I don’t—I don’t remember.” Kubo shakes his head wildly. “You _know_ I don’t remember! How do I know you’re telling the truth? You betrayed Grandfather, is that a lie too?”

“I am not my father’s property,” Sariatu says, a flash of anger breaking through. “I simply made my choice to take another road. Do you know what he considers my _real_ betrayal, Kubo? The truth is that the gods aren’t all that different than humans. He chose to blind his own eyes and stop his ears and shut his heart; but still, even if it was just for a moment, I made him feel _weak_. Human. And _that_ is the sin he cannot forgive.”

A rustling sound; Kubo is so absorbed he’d failed to notice the little orange warrior leaving his mother’s shoulder. It jumps from the boat, landing on his arm and climbing determinedly up the folds of his robe. Kubo yelps, trying to shake it free, but it grips with surprising strength. In seconds it is perching on top of his head, reaching down to tap gently on his forehead with a tiny hand.

“That…is a piece of the bright human boy who I loved,” his mother says. “The boy who once swore to me he would never become anything like his grandfather. If you ever wish to be that boy again…Hanzo will be your guide.”

She bows, very briefly. Then the boat turns away, and Kubo watches, frozen in indecision, until it vanishes into the darkness.

- _end?_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, dear recipient. Hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
